


And I'd claw at your heart And I'd tear at your sheet, I'd say please (please)

by Nimbosa (nimbosae)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Face-Fucking, Finger Sucking, I Tried, Jaime is the one tied up because he's demisexual bottom mess (it is known), Jaime/Brienne Monthly Madness, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimbosae/pseuds/Nimbosa
Summary: Jaime has been away on a trip and Brienne has a special welcome home gift in mind for him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 13
Kudos: 83
Collections: J/B Monthly Madness: March 2020





	And I'd claw at your heart And I'd tear at your sheet, I'd say please (please)

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to She Knows Who She Is (and what she has done), without whom this fic would literally never come to exist. (Would world lose much? Probably not.)
> 
> But the idea itself was born from the way someone on JB monthly madness post said mouthfucking with fingers also counts and I couldn't stop thinking about it.

Brienne smoothes her hand over the expensive sheets, as if the motion she has repeated far too many times already could soothe her quickly fraying nerves, which it doesn’t. And checking on the ropes already fastened to the bed posts ties knots beneath her lungs, and not the exciting ones that she had been tangled up in for the last two days as she plotted out this entire thing.

This is a mistake, she thinks, and tries to calculate in her head if she has time to tidy everything up before Jaime arrives. She does not. He will be home any minute now and all she can do now is to commit, if he is willing. 

Nervously, she runs hands down her sheer robe, the sapphire blue color at her shoulders fading into black at the bottom, lines and specks of silver embroidered within, like the first breath of night turned into a three piece lingerie set. It feels like artwork, almost too delicate for her, but she has to admit it conceals and reveals just enough to make something of her, and the colors look beautiful on all her paleness. It must be why Jaime had gifted her it on _his_ nameday. “A gift for the future Jaime, whenever you choose to wear it,” he had told her. 

Hopefully he thinks the same tonight.

She’s not supposed to even be home right now - if she hadn’t made some rearrangements with the help of Sansa and Margaery, her schedule would be full for another two hours. But her friends had been eager to help, though their knowing smirks had left Brienne slightly uneasy. Not that they could guess what she was planning. Or so she hopes, or she won’t be able to look them in the eye ever again and _definitely_ could not provide the details Margaery would probably be eager for.

And she had been eager, too. Grinning to herself as she ignored the one message he was dying to get a reaction to. (As if the voice recording of Jaime pleasuring himself as he narrated all the things he wished he could do to her right now hadn’t tilted her morning on the side, as if it hadn’t been the only other thing she could think about other than planning _this_.) Turning different possibilities around in her head, before settling for this as an unexpected and mutually enjoyable payback, and then throwing herself wholly in preparations. 

The giddiness had lasted all the way until an hour before he was supposed to be home. Now she is all tense nerves, her body stiffening as she hears him enter their apartment. It’s silly, presumptuous, what if he’s not in the mood for something like this-- 

The door to the bedroom opens. 

Jaime drops his luggage.

A small part of her wants to laugh at his dramatics, but the rest of her feels relief at the way his jaw goes slack and eyes darken immediately as he takes it all in. It brings a hint of her earlier giddiness back to life, starting from the knots in her chest and slipping lower to curl into her belly. He strides across the room and Brienne rises to meet him.

He hasn’t come to halt yet when she grabs his tie and pulls him towards her and her eager mouth, but she hasn’t accounted for the way he will just _surge_ upward and the kiss begins more like an almost painful clash of mouths and teeth which nearly sends her reeling a step back, but none of it seems to curb his enthusiasm (or hers). 

“I missed you so much. What’s all this?” he asks against her lips, diving back for another deep kiss as his hand slips beneath the robe and skims over her ribs, down her sides and then clutching her ass, pulling her firmly against him where she can already feel him hardening.

“I missed you, too," she says, as Jaime kisses his way down her neck. "This is a welcome home. If you’d like.”

He stops in his journey towards her collarbone, briefly sucks on the spot that always makes her shiver and then straightens up, to meet her eyes. The green of his gaze is somehow both dark, like the woods at night, and lit from inside, as if there are willowisps luring her deeper. She knows the answer before he says anything.

“Always.”

Brienne smiles, his eagerness doing wonders to her nerves. He grins in return, sharp in a way that always cuts her insecurities right open and holds her tenderly while they bleed out.

“A few days ago, you sent me something _very_ interesting,” she says, almost conversationally as she starts to take his jacket off. “And I think it’d be only fair to _show_ you why I was almost late for work that day.” Jaime sucks a breath in with a choked sound that thrills her immensely, much like his warm palm brushing against her nipple through the bra. 

“No touching?” he asks, while still decidedly _touching_ her, and she nods. “You will get to see, not just hear like I did, so I think you will find this a generous deal.”  
  


“You are always so good to me, Brienne.” His voice, though hoarse, is so earnest it makes her love do a somersault, landing overwhelmingly heavy but joyful in her chest, and she has no words on her tongue, so she thrusts it in his mouth for a kiss. He is as eager to accommodate and welcome it as he is to talk.

They undress him in a shared effort, rather frantically. The prosthetic goes last, and when the two of them sit down on the bed, she applies a cream to his stump, presses a kiss to it. The desire has ebbed in the warm, comforting face of intimacy that she is still amazed to call familiar, but the high tide comes crashing back in when he kisses her again, hand caressing its way up between her thighs. She puts hers over it and pulls away from his lips.

“No touching starts now.” If he touches her there, all her careful planning will unravel.

Jaime seems to consider bargaining just for a moment, but withdraws. 

“Lay down in the middle of the bed,” she tells him and this time he is much more eager to comply.

It takes a bit to get him secured, but they have figured the methodology before. Jaime seems to get more and more excited with every knot she tightens, and when her robe brushes (not as unintentionally as it may seem) against his hard, flushed cock, he gives an obscene groan. She adjusts the pillows so he is slightly propped up for what she hopes will be the most comfortable viewing angle and then moves to the foot of the bed to admire her handiwork. 

He looks like a photograph so beautiful it feels unreal, spread-eagle like this against the dark sheets. Hair mussed and eyes intent on her in a way that pierce her with the knowledge she’s _seen_. It used to make her want to hide away, still does so in moments of sharp clarity that cut through the veil he has wrapped around both of them; but just as he sees her, she sees him and how much he wants her. She sits on the bed firmly, legs spread, and Jaime’s teeth sink in his lip, tearing through the flash of insecurity.

Her heart thunders still as she parts her robe, caresses down her neck and then cups her breasts, tweaks her nipples through the lace, and moans. They’ve done this once before, not like _this_ , but she knows how much he enjoys hearing her. Jaime breathes her name and she slips the robe down her shoulders, slowly, letting it pool around her on the bed. He watches every uncovered inch of skin with such reverent want (which shouldn’t make sense, but she has no other words for his expression), as if he hasn’t kissed all of it countless times before. 

Brienne begins playing with her breasts again, exposes her left one, and he licks his lips. “I want it in my mouth,” he tells her, strains against the bonds a little, and the raw hunger pouring from him is more than enough to make up for slight discomfort of still having her bra on and breast out. He once told her he loves the contrast of her skin against blue and that’s a compliment she has taken to mind. 

“Good things come to those who wait and we’re just beginning,” she tells him, brushing one hand over her abdomen and pinching her nipple with the other. He watches so closely, as if he’s trying to _become_ her hands and she finds it hard to focus on anything but his eyes and the fire her touch and his gaze pour onto her skin. 

“A man can only be so patient. Would it even count as touching if you came here and put my mouth on you? It’d be initiated by you,” Jaime argues and she decides he is unnervingly level headed about this still. (Though there are truly only a few ways to shut him up _completely_ and more heat is poured into her as examples flash through her mind.) 

Brienne rubs herself lightly through her panties with a moan and thrust up against her hand. He echoes the sound like a low, distant bell. She can feel her wetness soaking through. Jaime’s voice is low, hoarse even, in contrast with the silky fire in his eyes when he speaks: “You’re so wet already, aren’t you? It would be so easy for you to just sink on my cock right now, ride me to completion while I strain to touch you. You liked it last time, didn’t you?”

Oh, she had. The memory flashes in her mind, through her body and suddenly, the pace she’s setting is far too slow. The reasons to tease and draw this out are dragged under by Jaime’s stare and her own blood rushing in her ears. Brienne pushes the fabric aside and touches her bare flesh, slick and hot. 

“But that was then. And _I_ didn’t get input in your lovely little recording,” she reminds him, breathlessly, and Jaime gets her point, quieting some, though she can see the effort it takes him. 

It only spurs her on more. 

She pauses long enough to shed the robe and her underwear, repositioning herself so that she is supported by her left arm as she leans back. Jaime’s attention has been unwavering, as if her hurried undressing is just as enticing as what she had just been doing. Brienne hopes the next act will trump it, though, and when he bites his lip, hips lifting slightly from the bed as she goes from caressing herself to fucking herself with one finger, it feels like first sign of victory. 

Though she tries to keep her pace even, everything starts to blur together very quickly - the increasing rhythm of her own digits, the wild want in Jaime’s eyes and the strained sounds he is making that gradually grow in volume and vague coherence. 

_Brienne, please, come up here, let me taste you, Brienne, just a taste, please_ he chants, growing more frantic with each uttered part, as if the image he forms is chasing him towards the edge. His hips drive upward in the same pattern with which she thrusts into herself and the sight, the experience of him, straining against ropes and a step away from undone, at the mere thought of her taste, of her on his face is what brings her over the brink, whitehot pleasure burning through her.

As with everything, Jaime’s presence makes even this orgasm more intense than anything she could create on her own. She used to hate how everything he touches becomes so much more golden, as if his surroundings look away from his flaws and choose to roll in the gilded dust he leaves in his wake. Now that he pours gold and love into her own life, she’s come to treasure it with love that makes her breathless.

Though right now, Brienne’s short of breath for entirely different reasons. 

Jaime is panting, too, and she wants to lick the sweat on his collarbone, which suddenly gives her a different idea.

She moves up the bed, careful not to wipe her right hand, and settles down on his left side. He looks up at her as if she’s somehow a statue of a god he both wants to worship and devour, in some impossible way. She doesn’t think she will ever get used to it.

“You said you just wanted a taste?” she asks, not aiming for a seducing tone, but Jaime’s eager lick of lips makes her feel like she hit it anyway. 

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse and Brienne leans down to kiss him briefly. Or she aims for briefly, but it turns into a quickly heating tangle of tongues. 

Eventually she pulls away and offers him her fingers instead, one by one, which he licks and sucks into his mouth, making truly indecent noises. His tongue is nimble and skilled and so very very eager, making Brienne consider doing as he had wished earlier, the thought combined with the sensation of his mouth already stoking her desire. But when Jaime chases, to the best of his ability, after her hand as she pulls it away, she is struck by inspiration.

She brings her index finger back to his lips and when he opens up to lick at it, she gently pushes in, then pulls away just so, repeats the motion, pauses. The moan Jaime gives in response tells her he’s caught on and approves, so Brienne continues, slowly building speed and adding two more fingers over time. Her huge hands had felt too crude for the brushes and dainty tools she handles in her work and, when she had slain that worry, for love, but he has told her repeatedly and filthily how much he loves them and in this moment, she genuinely believes him. 

He opens to her eagerly, sucks and laps at her fingers, and she has to wonder if he’d apply so much enthusiasm to some of their toys before they’re used elsewhere. The idea makes her cunt clench unexpectedly and Brienne files it under ‘definitely discuss later’, but now she takes his cock in her left hand and starts to stroke in same rhythm she’s fucking his mouth with. It’s a little clumsy and now she understands his laments how even masturbating hasn’t been quite the same since losing his hand (though _she_ has never had any complaints about performance of his left), but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. 

His eyes have gone from smouldering and seducing to glazed with pleasure, and his coordination is slipping as his thrusts become more erratic. Brienne sweeps her thumb over the leaking head and pushes a little more in the downward motion and his back is bowing, his teeth miraculously not embedded in her skin, as he comes, hard. 

She strokes him through the last shivers of his orgasm and when Jaime is fully back, quickly sets to untie the ropes. When his limbs are loose and free on the bed, Brienne fetches a cloth to clean him up with and inspects his stump, which is a little more sore than she’d like. 

“I am sorry,” she says at the same time as he says: “That was phenomenal.” 

Jaime laughs softly and brings her down for a kiss. “Don’t apologize for blowing my mind, Brienne. It doesn’t even feel tender and we can always skip ropes for a bit.” 

She smiles into the kiss, but applies some more of the cream to his reddened skin anyway, before settling under the covers next to him. There is cleaning up to do and his luggage to unpack and they should _probably_ eat, but all of that can wait.

Right now, she is too happy and sated to do anything but nap, curled up with her boyfriend who radiates the same complete, satisfied joy. “It’s so good to be home,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead, and she hums in agreement, and _home_ is the last thing she really feels as she falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 


End file.
